The Bond
by vindobonensis
Summary: Rudolf shares a bond with Death - a bond that is deeper than either of them anticipated. When he also shares a vision with his friend, the course of history is changed. M/M, AU, no Mary Vetsera, based on the 2013 Vienna production
1. Chapter 1

The Bond

January 30th 1889, 11:00 pm, Mayerling

The end had come. Death could see it as soon as he materialized in the shadows of the dark, oak panelled master bedroom of the crown prince's hunting lodge.

With soft steps he approached the hunched figure on the bed. The prince was sitting quietly, staring at the beautifully ornamented gun lying in his lap. Death let his eyes trail over the long, thin cuts criss-crossing the arms of the young Habsburg. Rudolf's shirt was stained crimson, his dagger on the pillow beside him.

He slowly placed a cold, heavy hand on the prince's shoulder. Rudolf sighed and looked up at him with tired eyes.

"Will you take me?" he asked, hope in his voice.

Death knew the sound of someone who was weary of the world, who had borne too much, who was _finally _ready. He felt the cosmic forces of time and fate shift, align and seal this human's destiny – he had fulfilled his role in the interminable play of world history and now it was time for him to propel the plot forwards by making his exit.

"Yes. Your time has come," he answered in a low, soothing voice, raising his hand from Rudolf's shoulder to softly caress his cheek. The prince leaned into the icy touch and smiled sadly.

Dark satisfaction glowed in Death's chest. Over the millennia, many humans had readily thrown themselves into his arms, but never had he been more elated at welcoming one of them. He had to admit to himself that he had grown somewhat … fond of the prince since he had first met him, a five-year old scared in the dark, and had been greeted with such blind trust. He had to admit that he had enjoyed their subsequent encounters, which had progressively become more … intense.

Death gently cupped the prince's cheek with one hand and guided his fingers to the gun with the other. The prince's breath hitched as the cold barrel came to rest against his temple and Death leaned forward, sliding into his lap and pushing him back onto the bed.

He was so submissive, so willing. _My prince_. The fight had left him, even the anger had. He was nothing like his mother just now and Death desired him all the more for it.

Slowly, he lowered himself onto the mortal beneath him.

Rudolf's fingers tightened around the trigger. The ice cold, perfect features of his fried were close, so close. Death traced a finger along his jawline and Rudolf sensed his grim determination. He shivered, almost painfully aware that Death's lips were only fractions of an inch from his, so close that he could feel the lack of breath. He closed his eyes, ready to embrace his face.

A gunshot.

A body.

A chambermaid's scream.

A messenger flying towards the palace.

The Emperor, crying. His mother in black, kneeling at his grave. His cousin being named the new heir. His mother dead – stabbed by an anarchist. Austrian soldiers in Serbia. His cousin A shot. A quarrel. War. Trenches. Cannons. Gas. Millions of lives lost. His father dead. Capitulation. The Empire breaking. People poor and hungry and displaced. Parties forming. An incompetent government. Faschism. Hate. Rising. Growing stronger. The swastika flying over Berlin. An army in Vienna. A dictator. Humans fleeing. Hiding. Caught. Suffering. Tortured. Murdered. Millions. Millions. The American flag. The red flags of Communism. An explosion that shook the very core of the earth.

Rudolf's eyes flew open. "NO!" he yelled.

Death drew back, startled, and watched as the prince struggled back into a sitting position and threw his head into his hands, shaking silently.

For a few moments, silence reigned the room as Death stood and watched the crown prince's despair. He was used to people's pleas and fear when he came to them, used to the pathetic attempts at escaping his grasp, the whimpering and the whining. But he hadn't expected it of Rudolf. Of his prince. Of one who had begged him to take him so often, who had hungrily surrendered himself to his touch – and now, that his time had finally come …

"Is it really going to happen like this?" A faint voice from the bed asked, interrupting Death's reflections.

"What?" Death shot the young man a startled glance.

"What I saw just now. If I die, is it all really going to come true?" Rudolf said, a little more loudly, raising his head from his hands and looking at his friend.

If there had been any necessity for him to breathe, Death might have gasped at the prince's question. As it was, all he did in response was stare at him with unprecedented intensity.

He could not have. Humans did not know. They could not see. Death alone was omniscient – he alone knew how history would proceed, how the world changed with the millennia, what significance a person's life and their death had for the unravelling future. True, he had been thinking about all the events that Rudolf's suicide would trigger in the rest of this century and the first half of the next, but the prince … he just could not have.

"What did you see?" he asked testily.

Rudolf lowered his head again and spoke quietly "The grief. The assassination. The war. The slaughter. The torture. And the bomb."

But then again, Death reflected, he had come closer to Rudolf than any human before him, even his mother. All those years ago, he had thought little of approaching Elisabeth's son out of anger at being rejected once more and in the grim determination to take the closest thing to the Empress that he could have. He hadn't foreseen that his relationship to the young Habsburg would evolve the way it did - but considering all the things they had done, all the things they had … shared, he felt he shouldn't be surprised that a bond had formed between them that allowed Rudolf to come closer to _him_ as well. And he couldn't lie to him.

"Yes," he answered "You saw what will happen when you die today."

Rudolf was still shaking slightly and gave a strangled sob at hearing his fears confirmed. Death approached him once more, resting his hand on the prince's shoulder. Rudolf's head jerked up.

"I can't" he croaked.

Death looked at him questioningly.

"I can't go with you knowing that … that I'm responsible. I can't spend eternity knowing that it was all my fault …" he broke off, voice failing him.

Anger rose in Death's breast. For years Rudolf had begged him to take him and he had always refused, biding his time. _That_ should have taught the prince that it was not his choice when Death would come for him.

It was not his concern that he did not want to come now – he took those who belonged to him, young or old, without a second thought.

He was Death. He was omniscient, omnipotent, eternal.

"Your time has come, I cannot change that," he said, almost coldly, and placed his hand under the prince's chin, tilting his head upwards and lowering his lips towards him.

And froze.

For the first time, he saw an expression on Rudolf's face that he had seen on so many others but had never expected to behold on his prince.

Fear.

With a frustrated growl he drew back, anger swelling once more. Only this time it was only halfway directed at the prince. It was not possible! He was Death! He did not care for humans - his role was to collect their souls at the right time to guarantee the pre-determined course of history. And for Rudolf this time was NOW!

Shaking off his momentary sentimentality, Death turned back towards the bed. However, when he came face to face with Rudolf, looking up at him through a veil of silent tears and despair, he halted and realized that the impossible had become possible.

He cared for Rudolf – more than he did for his mother. If it was the Empress resisting him, if it was her struggling against his kiss, he felt, he could take her – all the more joyfully because of her protests. But her son was a different matter.

"Fine," he hissed, rage simmering in his voice. "If it is your wish to attempt to change the course of fate…"

Death paused and thought for a moment. Then he wrapped a hand around Rudolf's neck and effortlessly lifted him off the bed, slamming him into the nearest wall. The prince's head collided with the cold stonework with a crack and all the wind was knocked out of him. Death watched for a moment as Rudolf realized what had happened. He looked at Death confusedly. Never before had he treated him this roughly.

For a moment, Death took perverse pleasure in seeing the prince like this – confused, but still not fighting, not doubting or questioning. Never before had he realized how fully the prince had surrendered himself to him – how he was his already, body and soul. His choice had been made, no matter how foolish it may be.

"… then so be it," he whispered.

Rudolf fell to the floor, coughing. His head hurt and so did his throat. The air burnt his lungs.

His friend had gone.


	2. Chapter 2

January 31st 1889 5:30 am, Hofburg, Vienna

Black night still lay over Vienna. There were few houses in which candles had been lit already in anticipation of the coming day. One of the windows behind which fires had been kindled, beds made and the day's work begun looked out over Hero's Square, in the heart of Vienna – it belonged to the Hofburg itself.

The Emperor clung to a habit of rising early and working for several hours before breakfast already. He was not a man who tolerated slackness in himself or anyone else. A fire crackled in the grate of Franz Joseph's private apartments and he was already seated in the heavy chair behind his desk, studying his recent correspondence. He was so immersed in his work that he did not notice the presence of a figure in the shadows behind him. That is, until a resonant voice filled the room.

"It is time."

The Emperor spun around, staring into the shadows. The servants had strict orders not to interrupt him during his morning routine.

"Who's there?" he demanded, annoyed.

"It is time," the voice repeated and the Emperor could not stop a shiver running down his spine. There was something … unreal about this.

"Who are you? Show yourself!" he demanded.

There was no response, but the Emperor spotted a slight movement in the shadows. The outline of a man appeared, seemingly materializing out of nothingness. Then there was the click of a heel on the polished floor and the swish of a cloak - the figure stepped into the light and became real.

Franz Joseph was faced with a tall man clad entirely in black with pale, almost translucent skin and white blonde hair that reached down to his shoulders. His lips were twisted into a grim smile.

"Who are you?" the Emperor asked once more, noting with annoyance that his voice sounded slightly shaky. "How did you gain access to my apartments?"

"I come and go where I please," the figure replied enigmatically. "And you know who I am."

The Emperor swallowed. A cold dread settled in the back of his stomach, but he was not about to let his fear show – he was, after all, a soldier.

"I must ask you to leave at once. I do not know who you are and I cannot imagine who let you in."

The black figure only chuckled darkly and approached him until they were standing mere feet apart. The Emperor could sense the aura of power surrounding the other man and in spite of himself, he retreated until he ungracefully bumped into his desk.

"What do you want?" he choked out.

The figure's smile morphed into a terrible grin. "I think you know that. It is time."

Before Franz Joseph had the chance to respond, the stranger's hand shot forward, aiming at his chest. The Emperor tried to brace himself for a punch.

But it never came.

Confused, he looked down. And saw with horror that the other man's – the _being's_ – hand had effortlessly penetrated his chest. There was no blood, no wound – the creature's arm seemed to have melted into his own flesh.

He looked back up at the dark figure, his mouth agape in terror.

The servants heard a scream of pain and the sound of a crash and after a moment of confused silence, they stormed towards the Emperor's apartments. They found their master lying on the floor. He had had collapsed, knocking over his desk, and was now desperately clutching at his chest.


	3. Chapter 3

January 31st 1889, 11:30 am, Hofburg, Vienna

The doors of the imperial apartments flew open and two grave-looking servants admitted the crown prince.

Rudolf was dishevelled, out of breath and covered in dust from the road. For once, though, none of the nobles, politicians and servants assembled in the room looked at his appearance with disapproval – rather the contrary. A prince who had been woken in the early hours of the day by a messenger informing him that his father was dying and told to ride to Vienna as fast as his horse would carry him if he wanted to say his goodbyes, ought to look like this, they felt.

Rudolf hesitated at the door for a moment before making his way, past the various courtiers, over to his father's bed. Franz Joseph was surrounded by a multitude of nurses and doctors. He was pale and his breath came in shallow gasps, his lips were tinged a dark shade of blue and perspiration stood on his forehead. There was no doubt he would not last long.

Rudolf had never seen the Emperor look so small.

"Father?" he asked, kneeling down by the bed. "Can you hear me?"

No answer came.

"Your majesty," one of the doctors said in a hushed voice "the Emperor has been unconscious for an hour. Before that he was hallucinating. We doubt he will regain his senses."

The Archduchess Sophie, standing at the head of her son's bed with a handkerchief pressed to her eyes, gave a quiet sob.

"He hallucinated?" Rudolf asked the doctor, startled. His mind could not grasp the concept of his father seeing something that was not real, even in illness. His father! The most practical, down-to-earth person he knew, who had chastised him so often for being a dreamer out of touch with the facts of life.

"Yes, your majesty. He thought there was someone here – a man. He talked as if to him repeatedly, yelled at him, even. A man in black, he said."

Rudolf's breath caught in his throat and his head flew around, looking for the familiar face among the many people in the room. There were his sister Valerie and her fiancé, his grandmother and other, more distant members of the royal family, several representatives of the high nobility, some parliamentarians and a few servants, standing quietly in a corner.

But _he_ was not here.

Exhaling slowly and ignoring the doctor's sceptic look, Rudolf turned back to his father's bed. And came face to face with his friend.

Death had appeared without a sound and now stood on the other side of the Emperor's bed, only a foot away from the Archduchess Sophie. She did not notice him. No one did.

Death looked down at Rudolf, his expression unreadable. Taking a step closer to the Emperor, he lowered his hand and passed it gently over the man's face and Rudolf watched, stunned, as his father gave one final sigh before lying still.

Still not grasping what had happened, he raised his eyes to his friend, his world spinning at a hundred times its usual rate.

Death looked back calmly and reached up to trace a finger along Rudolf's jawline. "I will come when you call me," he said in a low voice.

Then shouts filled the room. Rudolf flinched and blinked and in a heartbeat his friend was gone. He turned around, shaking, to face the room full of people, yelling at the top of their voices: "The Emperor is dead, long live the Emperor."


	4. Chapter 4

Author's Note

I am continuing to upload this story on Archive of Our Own – the file manager there is ever so much easier to deal with and there is a much greater fundus of Elisabeth fanfiction.

So if you're interested, feel free to continue reading: /works/3347135


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